


Hero of Protection - an origin story

by Outcasts_Anonymous



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Cosmic/Exestential Horror... I think?, Gen, Midoriya Izuku Does Not Have One for All Quirk, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Break, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Hug, Midoriya Izuku has the Sword of Protection, Midoriya Izuku is Not Okay, Midoriya Izuku is She-Ra, Midoriya Izuku is a Good Person, Midoriya Izuku is a Mess, Quirkless Midoriya Izuku
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29629239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outcasts_Anonymous/pseuds/Outcasts_Anonymous
Summary: Baby Izuku is picked by Light Hope to be She-Ra lmao.(just a one-shot)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Hero of Protection - an origin story

Midoriya Izuku should never come into contact with the Sword of Protection. This is a fact; a universal law; these two entities should never be able to exist within the same realm of existence; the same instance of reality as each other. One comes from the current universe; a universe so vast and so unexplored in comparison to others- but one where his kind, known in this instance as humanity, developed biological powers; instead of remaining a stagnant race; becoming cybernetically enhanced- or developing cosmic powers known colloquially as ‘magic’, as were humanity’s usual lots.

Whereas the other came from an old universe; one turned singularity long before the concept of time came back into existence. One where Earth was but a footnote in the memories of all that had heard of it; as important to them as ‘TOI-451 d’ is to us. A universe where life would teem in every corner, and under every dark rock; one where magic and science ruled the fundamental building blocks of the universe.

And yet, somehow, there it was.

There _they_ were.

In a forest, under a canopy of leaves; both their civilisations though incomparable in distance, far _far_ away from them… were both Midoriya _and_ the sword. Light cascaded down upon them, breaking very rarely through the leaves to provide rays of light, and the ground shone from the damp soaked into the floor of fallen foliage.

Midoriya was barely teenager; barely at an age high enough to be comprised of two digits, but even still he knew that what he was looking at was _wrong_ ; a sword buried blade-first into a mound of dirt; vines wrapped around it like some Arthurian fairy tale, should not give off the feelings it did; should not cause what could only be described as Midoriya’s very soul to shake and vie away from it.

But ever still, he continued to step closer; cautious padded foot-falls and intense, regulated breaths being the only sounds around for miles- or at the very least, the only sounds that Midoriya could hear, as enraptured by the sword’s beauty as he was.

Its blade was a diamond blue, and looked even abandoned just as sharp as one freshly cut; the far-too-simplistic-looking circuit pattern engraved into the flat of the blade being its only blemish. And the hilt, clearly designed to be far more aesthetically pleasing than functional, caught what little light that made it through the canopy in just the right way to make itself shine like it were freshly polished.

And when he was close; far too close to shut off the impulse to do what he knew; felt; was _instructed_ , to do… Midoriya Izuku; a boy of ten, with a future of billions of uncharitable paths; a boy of ten, who knew far too much of fighting wars that shouldn’t need to be fought, grabbed that sword by its aesthetic-oriented handle, and _saw._

There was a flash of blue light; one that seemed to drown the forest, and one that seared the boy’s retinas with a stabbing pain nothing like what he had experienced in all his time with Bakugou. And though the feeling of _wrong_ persisted, and increased ten-fold when the voice of a being realities-long-dead whispered in his ear, it no longer bothered him; it was as if though his soul were not at peace… it _were_ at acceptance.

“I have had a long time to think about this,” The voice echoed, so close and so quiet Midoriya swore he could feel a phantom breath on the shell of his ear. “I don’t know how I exist. In this reality, I was never, and will never, be made.”

Flashes of planets that will never be discovered filled Midoriya’s eyes, and images of people who will never exist ran about inside his head. Names that could once topple civilisations etched themselves onto his tongue, and again the woman’s voice clearly synthesized filled his ears.

“I have no purpose in this life; my existence is an impossibility. So I leave this sword to you, Midoriya Izuku, and I give you my blessing to continue She-Ra’s legacy in whichever way you see fit. In the past, She-Ra has been a hero, a tool, and a weapon- sometimes all at once. What will you make of her, I wonder..?”

As if he had stopped breathing the moment he had touched the sword, Midoriya shot up in bed gasping for air; his eyes blown wide and wild; uncomprehending of the poster-clad walls of his room, and the sweat beading on his forehead in a large enough quantity it was almost like the rain pounding on the outside of their apartment had somehow gotten _in_. Midoriya Izuku; a boy of ten, clutched at his quilt when his door banged in, and his mother rushed to his side; her adrenaline spurred on by the sound of her son’s yell making her a force that not even All Might could best.

And Midoriya Izuku; a boy of ten, in that moment; amongst the confusion and panic; amongst the fear and tears, and the pounding of the rain and the lingering images of a past and a future that both had and could not exist, allowed his mother to wrap him in her arms; to indulge in the warmth and comfort and feeling of safety he oh-so-sorely needed.

Because Midoriya Izuku; a boy of ten, knew that this moment marked the beginning of a brand-new chapter of his life, and not one he was ready or _willing_ to open. Wherever that sword was; wherever that jungle-like canopy of leaves was, was where Midoriya was going; where he would no-doubt end up should he attempt to run from whatever madness he had just been intertwined with.

All he had wanted was a quirk, not whatever this was.


End file.
